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I shake my head. There’s no way I can face him. He wanted me to forget what we did, so why now is he calling me baby? Because he knows what happened to me?
“Come on, Honor, look at me. Let me see your eyes.”
That was something else with him when we had sex, he demanded to see my eyes. No matter we didn’t speak during sex, he made sure my eyes were on him and he could see mine.
My breath hitches, and I slowly open my eyes and look in his direction. Behind him, Gunner moves in. Both men stare at me with so many emotions swirling in their eyes I don’t know how to explain it.It’s like turmoil mixed with anguish and rage. Confliction, maybe? Or they could be mixed with sorrow.
Unable to stand it any longer, I roll my head on the pillow and look at Glacier. “What are you doing here?”
“Came to see you,” he answers.
“When do you go back?” I ask, unable to stop the thought.
“Depends.” Glacier shrugs and looks briefly at the other two men in the room before looking back at me. “Why?”
“Can I come live with you?” I blurt out the question, knowing it probably hurts my brother, but after what I went through—the pain and agony. I don’t think I can face any of them knowing it was done to me because of them. I’m damaged beyond repair, and being here will be a reminder of all that happened to me.
I don’t have to see my body to know how badly they hurt me. I can feel the cast on my arm. The bandages around my waist. More than that, I can feel their filth all over me. Their hands holding me down. Their bodies against mine. It’s something I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forget.
“Honor,” Gunner rasps.
Glacier looks over to the other two in the room before bringing his gaze back to mine and utters, “If that’s what you need right now, then yeah, you can come back with me. Whatever you have to have, Honor, you just have to ask.”
“Not without me, heifer!” Delaney declares, storming into the room like her heels are on fire.
I meet her gaze and immediately see she’s feeling what happened and probably thinks it’s her fault.
“What do you mean not without you?” I ask.
“I’m not about to lose my best friend. If you go, I’m going with you.”
God, I love my best friend.
Before I can answer respond, Doctor Michaels walks in.
I inwardly groan as total embarrassment rushes through my entire being. Being a patient in my place of work isn’t something I wanted ever to experience. I mean not in this way.
“It’s good to see you awake,” Doctor Michaels says, smiling brightly at me. She’s one of the few doctors who doesn’t act arrogant in any shape or form. What you see with her is what you get. She always looks out for the patient but does it with a motherly attitude and is always sweet to the other staff members. Though I know she doesn’t have an issue with giving attitude when necessary. “How are you feeling?”
Clearing my throat, I lick my bottom lip and answer, “I feel like I’ve been hit by a Mack truck several times.”
“I’m sure that’s a good way to explain it all things, considering.” She nods and looks to the others in the room. “Would you all mind stepping out for a moment so I may have a word in private with my patient?”
I can tell none of them want to from the feel of the tension in the room, but they give in, closing the door behind them.
Doctor Michaels takes her time filling me in on all that they found when I was brought in. A broken arm, several cracked ribs, lacerations that required stitches, bruises all over, a concussion, and trauma between my legs. They’d given me antibiotics through my IV to help with any infections that could set alongside something to combat against sexually transmitted illnesses as well as pregnancy, and they’d put my arm in a purple cast.
“So, the typical busted-up attack,” I mutter, trying not to think about what happened.
“You could say that,” the other woman says and comes to sit on the chair next to the bed. “I know what you went through couldn’t have been easy. I know because I saw the state you were in when you were first brought in.”
Without using words, I keep looking at her. She saw me, and I’m sure others did as well.
“Honor, you know we’re going to have to send someone in to evaluate you, and the police will be coming to take your statement,” she murmurs gently.
“Please don’t,” I whisper, shaking my head. “No cops. I don’t want to talk about this to them. To no one.”
“You’re going to need someone to talk to.”
